Mild Euphoria

By Marcus D., Townsend, MA

What phrase to describe this feeling? Having just escaped through the back door of responsibility, how may I illustrate the resulting emotion? Just now, in lieu of "Chapter 3 + Summary," in complete rejection of assigned literature, I have indulged in what the educational system has affectionately dubbed "outside reading." The only explanation of this mental state I can offer appears occasionally in the manuals of soft-core drug use: mild euphoria.

Imagine a slave on the plantation, his skin worn to leather by sun and whip, stealing away from his shanty by moonlight to bathe in a river miles away. Imagine a dog, long deprived, left alone for one glorious minute with a t-bone steak. Imagine the subordinate wife skipping out for a night with the girls ... to a male stripper joint. They all know the feeling. The temporary rush of liberty to the heart and brain. The fine art of basking in individuality.

For the first time in months, I stretched out upon my bed to read On Aggression, a sociological study of intra-species confrontation. My interest in the subject can best be described as lukewarm. But that's not the point, is it? The point is, I found this book myself, without push or obligation or threat of failure. I followed the truest intellectual path available: mine.

I have bathed in the river. I have gorged myself on the t-bone steak. I have made my pilgrimage to the aforementioned male stripper joint and emerged on the Other Side. I have chosen my book and read it, and I am reaping the rewards, the afterglow of a great act of knowledge ...